


Moments 'Midst the Fray

by IllyanaA



Series: When Darkness Seems to Hide This Place [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Various feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24506098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllyanaA/pseuds/IllyanaA
Summary: A collection of deleted scenes and snippets from the first installment of the "When Darkness Seems to Hide This Place" 'Verse. They will likely work as stand alone AU reads, but will make more sense as part of the series.
Series: When Darkness Seems to Hide This Place [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652398
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. Their Blood Cries From My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> These are hopefully going to fill in plot holes I (accidentally) created over 5 years of writing WDSTHTP, as well as scenes I wrote that didn't work with the pacing I was going for.

His hands shake as he turns the DC’s over. He knew this part would be hard. He knew the moment he watched his brothers declare he and Ahsoka traitors worthy of death, ready to gun them down, that their blood would be on his hands. He doesn’t regret saving her; he can’t. This is the side he has chosen, for better or worse, but this part? It doesn’t get easier. Shooting his brothers down, knowing their lives—rife with unfairness and deserving of so much more—are snuffed out by his blasters.

He couldn’t recognize them now with their armour painted all-white. Had it been 501st? 212th? Could they have recognized him. If they did, it must not have mattered, because they opened fire as soon as they spotted him. Hard to stomach the idea that men he fought side-by-side with, men he shared blood with, would attack one of their own without care. He doesn’t know whether or not the chips are still activated, but he has to believe they are. It’s easier than believing they’re choosing this.

Regardless, he isn’t meant to kill his brothers. Regular people have never truly understood the connection, but they’re family. Each loss left a hole, the unfair end to a life riddled with unfairness, but knowing he is responsible, directly responsible, for those deaths eats at him. He leans further into the wall and cradles his head in trembling hands.

“Rex?”

Skywalker stands before him, and he shoots his head back up, dimly aware of the wetness in his eyes. “General!”

“Not anymore, Rex,” he says stumbling to the wall he leans on. “Just ‘Anakin’ now. Relax.”

He sits back against the wall, slumping down with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. Must be his legs. “What’s wrong? I sense…” he trails off, as if he’s searching for the right words. Rare occurrence for his general, who always seems to have an opinion. “You know you can tell me anything. Was it the Zillos?”

His eyes burn, and Rex looks down and away. “Sir, I don’t really—It’s…it’s difficult.”

Anakin’s eyes fall to the blasters in his hands. A sad sigh escapes his lips. “You encountered troopers on that last mission.”

“I knew the risks, sir. I knew what I was choosing the moment I chose to save Ahsoka. But every time I have to…they’re my brothers, sir. Imperial or no.”

He hates the way his throat closes, and his breath gets caught in his lungs. A hand settles on his shoulder, the warmth of it seeping through his blacks, and he leans into the touch. He hasn’t wanted to talk about this, despite Ahsoka’s pressing in the immediate aftermath, and then they had separated so she could check for survivors. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty, to feel like he regrets saving her, because he knows she would blame herself.

Anakin doesn’t press, but Rex continues anyway. “I wonder sometimes, whose face is beneath that helmet. Kix, if he’s still alive? Cody?”

At the name of his closest brother, the wall is breached, and Skywalker knows it, but the hand on his shoulder tightens. The Jedi says nothing but leans in towards him. Rex brings a hand up to cover his face, ashamed to be crumpling to pieces in front of his general, like a cadet after his first failed simulation.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

The hand stretches across his back to his other shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for. I can’t imagine what all this is like. Ahsoka…she told me about what happened with the 332nd.” Silence, before: “You’re human, Rex. You’re allowed to grieve.”

For some reason, he had needed the permission, and now he breaks, silent sobs wracking him like they had when he and Ahsoka had dragged, one-by-one, the bodies of their men out of that wreckage. Anakin says nothing more, offering no platitudes or empty words, instead tightening his grip. Something else settles over him, and it’s warm, but not in the same way as Anakin’s arm around his shoulders. A quick glance reveals his eyes closed, and Rex realizes it must be something he’s doing with the Force. He’ll take the comfort, because he knows his general isn’t going to hold this moment of weakness against him. It’s not his nature. He remembers seeing him with the men after hard campaigns, and _Force_ , that one night with Fives after Umbara, and _oh,_ if they had just listened to Fives—

“Rex,” he starts. “If this is…you don’t have to keep doing this. You have a choice now. You don’t have to keep fighting.”

He snaps his head up and catches Anakin’s eyes. “I want to, sir. The Empire needs to burn for what it’s done, and I want my brothers free. Even if…even if I lose some in the process.”

“Okay,” he says, and squeezes once more before letting him go. “Just know it’s an option. You have a _choice_ , and I won’t take that away from you.”

With a final pat to his shoulder, Anakin gets slowly to his feet and leaves Rex to collect himself. Not for the first time, he thanks whoever or whatever might be listening that Skywalker is his general. When he can trust his voice, he calls across the room.

“Sir? Thank you.”

“Anytime. And Rex? I mean it: war’s over. It’s ‘Anakin.’”


	2. Secure I find you here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb reunites with his master after his encounter with the Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes mine.

The chaos starts as soon as they start unloading the wounded, despite the lag time from having to send shuttles and transports down one by one, with different codes and at different points of entry. Not like they have a whole corps of medical personal to help them triage. He hopes they get this first group sorted before the Coruscant team gets back, otherwise they’re going to have a situation on their hands. 

His heart skips when he sports Master Roan on a stretcher flanked by healers and a medic—Haven, he recognizes from his master’s troopers. He’s at his side in an instant, careful to stay out of Haven’s way. Initial relief fades as his eyes fall to the hole in Roan’s shoulder, deep and reeking with the stench of burnt flesh. A lightsaber did that; he knows with conviction. It looks like it sat in his shoulder for a while, rather than a quick jab, and Caleb has a sudden sickening awareness of how close he had come.

“Caleb,” he says, and there’s a smile on his face. “We did it. We’re home.”

Only after Master Roan’s hand cups his face does he realize he’s crying. He’s on the verge of a deluge, from everything he hasn’t had time to process, but he takes a breath and releases what he can. There is work to be done now.

“Stay strong, Padawan. We’ll have time to decompress later.”

“Dume!” A voice calls from across the room. “Could use your help with some of the minor ones.”

He hesitates for just a moment, but Haven steers him away. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ve got him.”

A centering breath. Then he moves to bacta and bandage others. He finished up another one of Roan’s men—Blague, an ARC trooper—and spots Shaak Ti moving to join the team taking care of his master. Good. Blague makes a quick joke about Haven’s bedside manner to another nearby trooper and stumbles to a standing position. He’s a bit unsteady on his feet at first, but once he gets crutch situated under his arm, he gives a pat to Caleb’s shoulder.

“Thanks, kid.”

And he moves on to the next.

He’s exhausted by the time Roan gets out of his healing sessions. Once all the injuries had been sorted, he had joined in unloading and sorting supplies—what little the team had taken with them—and got everyone fed. Now, they have time to rest as they wait for the main group to get back from the Core. As soon as he’s dismissed, he heads straight for their Healer’s Ward, and Master Ti acknowledges him with a gentle nod and points him in the direction of Roan’s cot.

He feels dead on his feet in a way he hasn’t since Pembric II, and he all but collapses down onto the floor next to his pallet. The bump of the bacta patch is barely visible beneath the layers of his tunics, but aside from that, he looks well. The ward is quiet; most of the occupants sleep or have been placed in healing trances. It has the same aura of calm that the Healer’s Ward in the Coruscant Temple always had, and he finds himself less and less able to resist the call of sleep. He settles down onto the edge of his master’s pallet. He’ll just rest here for a moment, just a moment, and then he’ll sit vigilant at Master Roan’s side.

* * * * * * * *

Roan wakes aware of two sensations: the dulled, burning sensation in one shoulder and a warm, solid weight on the other. He remembers how he cam about the former: an Inquisitor’s blade, pressed into his shoulder searing away the flesh and muscle and _bone_ around its tip. The latter he can’t quite place, but he decides it’s a nice enough feeling, so he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans his head towards it, eyes blinking as awareness returns.

The feeling of soft hair brushes his cheek, and he tilts down to look at its owner. Caleb has curled himself half onto the small pallet, half on the cold stone, his only point of contact where the boy’s head rests on his shoulder. Knowing his Padawan, the boy had tried his best to be close without jostling him, and thus settled for this awkward angle.

Master Ti must have noticed his wakefulness, because she eases down to a kneeling position beside him and carefully unwinds the bandage to check his wound.

“Your Padawan was an instrumental helper. You should be proud,” she says, stretching out a hand above the wound. Her gaze turns inward for a moment. “It’s healing, but take care not to aggravate it before the repair is done. Your bone is trying to knit itself back together; that takes time.”

“Not to worry, Master Ti,” he says, voice quiet to avoid stirring Caleb. “I plan on taking a long holiday from fighting Inquisitors. I’m getting too old for this.”

A gentle laugh, as she wraps a fresh bandage around his shoulder and leaves to attend to others. He lays there in silent peace, feeling the gentle wrapping of the Healing Force around others in the room. Had he been gifted for it, perhaps he would have studied the healing arts rather than war, but that was another life. He hopes the next generation of Jedi will see an end to these sorts of galaxy-wide conflicts, even if just for a moment. Idealistic, perhaps, but sometimes he needs a bit of idealism to keep him going.

“You think too loud,” says a quiet voice from his shoulder.

“No, my dear Padawan, you are just rather sensitive.”

Caleb sits up and blinks the sleep from his eyes. “Hey, I didn’t ask to become some weird Lothal-Temple-Hyper-Force-Connected Jedi. How’s your shoulder?”

“Still burns a bit, but it’s healing.”

The boy looks down, shoulders drooping. “Good. Because it looked bad when they brought you in.”

He’s about to ask about the other attack group when Caleb says, “I heard your message. Or…I felt it, rather.”

“I’m glad.”

“It was…reassuring. But there was pain attached to it, too, and then when you came in with that _hole_ in your shoulder, I…” He looks up at him, moisture brimming his eyes. “I guess I realized how close I came. _Again._ I know it’s a reality of the lives we live, of this New Galaxy Order we’re stuck railing against but that’s doesn’t—it’s not easier.”

The master reaches a hand to the boy shoulder and holds his gaze. Of course, he had sensed the boy’s fear when he left, just as he now feels the conflict of relief and grief and fear for what almost was. “Caleb, I will not chastise you for fear of loss. Force knows we’ve all already lost so much. It is not the emotion of fear that we must be wary of, but rather our reaction. We are living, breathing beings. It is natural to be afraid of loss. We cannot allow those feelings to hinder our commitment to duty, to service. And you didn’t. Master Ti told me of your aid during all of this, and I could not be more proud. I know if Master Billaba were here, she would be, too. You did _well_ , Caleb.”

No sooner has he finished than he finds himself with an arm full of Caleb, the boy setting his head back on his shoulder and clutching at his tunic. He feels a wetness in the fabric, but his Padawan isn’t sobbing. Rather, he radiates joy and an odd sense of acceptance. Roan hadn’t planned on taking another student, especially not after the Order fell, especially not after what happened to his last one, but he thanks the Force for the blessing of it.

As his still exhausted Padawan floats back into sleep beside him, he presses gently into Caleb’s mind. Mustering all of the calm, and peace, and warm _pride_ he can, he encircles his Padawan in it and allows himself to drift beneath the surface of the Force. For the first time since the end of the war, the Force feels…less Dark. Not Light, per say, not in the way it had been before the war, when despite a lack of balance, the darkness wasn’t quite as encroaching. He takes comfort in that fact. Something has shifted. How much easier it will make things, he can’t say, but for the moment, this moment it’s enough. And with his Padawan curled against his side, his mind wrapped around Caleb’s, he stays in this light meditation until exhaustion claims him again.


	3. Sorrows like sea billows roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody gets a chance to apologize to his general. The only problem is he's not quite sure what to say. He just knows he has a lot to make up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes mine.

They keep them bound until they get everyone situated in medical. The injured take precedent, leaving the defectors to wait in the wings until there’s space. The medical droid has set to work prepping the surgery bed, and Rex explains that it will need to run a deep scan to find the chips. Cody insists on going first. Despite his injuries, Rex declares he’s staying at their sides through the process, so Dira only gets so much healing done on him. The last thing Cody remembers before going under is Rex’s hand gripping his and quiet whispers of: “It’s okay, vod. You’re going to be _free_.”

When he comes to, the first thing he notices is a splitting migraine, aggravated by the starkness of the med-bay lights. The second is that Rex has leaned forward onto the bed and had his head resting on his arms. His breathing is even, and Cody suspects he’s asleep. Against his better judgement, he gives into an inexplicable urge to set a hand on his shoulder. He needs to feel the rise and fall of his breath, the warmth beneath his hand. Needs to know his brother is still with him, at his side despite it all. But sure enough, the touch is enough to stir him, and Rex lifts his head, moving from asleep to awake with a clarity that’s partially their shared genetics and partially years upon years of battle training. He looks years older than even their advanced aging would allow for, and the hollowness in his face betrays the still fresh affects of the torture he had been subjected to. _Stars_ , his brother looks like _kark_. And he is at least partially responsible.

“How do you feel?”

“Just a headache…” He lies because his discomfort is not what’s important. “Rex—”

“Don’t. There’s no need.”

He sits up a bit then, ignoring the way the room wobbles a bit and a fresh throbbing starts pounding on his skull. “Yes, there is. That wasn’t—I wasn’t under that _thing_ when I tortured you. That was me, all me, and I…”

Rex waves him off and takes his hand. “I’m no Jedi, but the Temple felt…wrong. Anakin said it was the Dark Side, and it felt like it seemed to press in on us. I’m sure if you’re around Sidious long enough, covered in that feeling, it starts to mess with your head. My point is we’ve both been through our fair share of kark, and I’m not going to hold this against you. I’m just glad you’re back.”

Cody finds he has nothing to say to that, so he squeezes Rex’s hand. He can’t stop the hitch in his breath, nor the tears that slip down when Rex leans up to press his forehead to his. “I’ve missed you, ori’vod.”

* * * * * * * *

He avoids General Kenobi for most of the trip back to Lothal. Not that it is especially difficult, since the Jedi has spent most of his time in an improvised healing trance trying to repair the damage Sidious had done. Cody retreated to his temporary quarters as soon as he was able, to begin the difficult process of what to say to the man he had ordered shot down. There had been grief and betrayal on his face when Cody first saw him in the Temple, followed by shock when he had come forward to join them. As hard as this will be, he counts himself lucky to have the opportunity to beg his general’s forgiveness, since so many—Wolffe included—will never have that chance. They will live the rest of their shortened lives with the unalterable knowledge that those they had cared about had died by their hands.

There is no good way to say “I’m sorry I ordered your murder after three years of fighting by your side, after three years of hauling each other out of the muck, after three years of building a relationship of solid trust and respect—your faked death notwithstanding.” Rex had sat next to him on his med-bay bed, recounting his survival with Ahsoka, all while sparing no detail. It hurt to hear, but he is grateful his brother told him all the same. Rex tried, _has been trying_ , to shut down his feelings of guilt.

“Cody, the only reason I was able to fight it for as long as I did was because I knew,” Rex had said. “You couldn’t have.”

Which may be true, but it still doesn’t lessen the extent to which he blames himself. That will be his burden to bear, he supposes, as he has learned that no one escapes the horrors of war unscathed. Not even those bred to withstand it.

He finds himself now outside the General’s temporary quarters, an old converted office he now shares with Anakin, but he can’t bring himself to knock. His hand shakes both times he reaches up to try, and frustrated, he makes a fist and drops it back down to his side. He was a marshal commander¸ damn it. He has lead thousands upon thousands of men into battle, stared death in its face more times than he can count, and he finds himself frozen now?

As he’s about to leave, Skywalker opens the door, head still partially turned towards Kenobi. Cody straightens to attention in an instant.

“I’ll go check in with Rex and them and then I’ll—Oh, Cody? Are you…did you need something?”

“I—Is General Kenobi here, sir?” Stupid question. Who else would Skywalker be talking to?

But the man doesn’t call him on it. He nods and sets a hand on his shoulder. “He is, and he’s been hoping to talk with you. Go ahead.”

A slow, steadying breath later he steps through the doorway. The general smiles as he enters, seeming genuinely glad to see him. He sets down the datapad he’s reading and motions for him to sit. He doesn’t.

“Glad to see you up and about, Cody. How do you feel?”

“I’m alright, sir.” His throat has gone dry. “I wanted to—” He stops short, thinking perhaps it’s best to avoid speaking out of turn.

But Kenobi says nothing and keeps his gaze fixed on him. Cody feels like he’s staring through to his soul. He has never felt intimidated by this man before. That wasn’t their relationship, but standing before him now, he feels like a child. Kenobi motions for him to continue.

Only, he still doesn’t know exactly how he wants to start, so it comes out in a ramble. “Sir, what happened on Utapau, I—I have no excuse. I know the chips made us, I know they did, but it doesn’t excuse it and I was horrified when it was over but I stayed with the Empire anyway. Sidious said you were dead. I betrayed you, I hated what I had done, and to have your blood on my hands, I—”

“Cody.”

General Kenobi’s hands grip his arms through the fabric of his shirt. He realizes now that he’s shaking, and there is water in his eyes again. What a far cry he must look from the commander he was engineered to be. He lowers his head in shame, shame he knows the other man can feel. There is still so much he needs to say, but he can’t find the words to express the depths of his guilt and disgrace, so he puts all he has into two words he knows his general will understand.

“Ni ceta.”

Kenobi’s face looks pained. “No, Commander. There is nothing for me to forgive.”

He raises his head. “But sir, I—"

“Let me finish. I cannot hold you accountable for an action you did not choose, nor will I hold against you the actions you took to cope with that trauma. We have all been through too much. These are things you must work out in your own timing, so that you can forgive yourself.”

He falls silent a moment before adding: “It was and is an honour to fight by your side, Cody. I am grateful for a new opportunity.”

A final tight squeeze on his arms, and Kenobi lets him go. The guilt, it’s not gone, not abated, but having this conversation is a step in the right direction. He thanks the Force, not for the first time, that he’s here on this ship, free of Palpatine’s influence, that two of his closest brothers are here, and his general has welcomed him back with open arms. The Empire tried to take everything from him, including himself, but they failed. Even now, they fail to snuff out the remaining glimmers of life in the galaxy. It may take the rest of his life, but he will see the Empire fall.

He has earned that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translation if needed:  
> vod-brother  
> ori'vod-big brother  
> Ni ceta-groveling apology. Lit., "I kneel."


End file.
